


Ain't Gonna Drown

by raiining



Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Supernatural Elements, Alternate Universe - Western, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-17
Updated: 2016-05-17
Packaged: 2018-06-08 22:39:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,131
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6876934
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/raiining/pseuds/raiining
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lawman can’t catch a soul like mine.</p>
<p>(Miracles are just too damn hard to find)</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Aka: the western/supernatural elements C/C AU</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ain't Gonna Drown

**Author's Note:**

> Title and summary from the song by Elle King. I have two sick kids at home today and haven’t the time or brain to work on my usual fics, so I wrote up this ditty while the babes are sleeping. I hope you all enjoy!
> 
> A huge number of thanks to the fabulous Desert_Neon, who read this over even when it didn't make any sense and, as always, made everything better with her suggestions. Thank you darling!

“What do you think, Phil?” Clint Barton taunted. “Do I have your attention yet?”

Phil Coulson, Sheriff, studied him. This wasn’t right — Barton had always been something of a loose cannon, but he was a bounty hunter; despite his occasional recklessness, he’d always firmly been on _this_ side of the law.

At the moment, however, nothing could be further from the truth. Barton stood on the planking in front of the bank, the bank manager himself dangling on his boot-tips from one hand. Phil searched Barton’s face for signs of strain, and found none. That was impossible. He’d always known Barton was strong, but Mr Steele was a large man, heavyset — no one could hold him so far above the ground with such ease.

Something was clearly wrong. Phil had become concerned when he’d heard that Barton had arrived in town last night and hadn’t stopped by for his usual welcome-back whiskey, but he’d put aside the snub. Phil had known from the start that Barton’s friendship would be a temporary thing — a hometown lawman like Phil could never hope to accumulate the kinds of stories a man like Barton would find interesting. Sooner or later Barton would grow bored with his meager offerings, and Phil would be left alone. He’d known that. 

He’d _hoped_ to put off the inevitable as long as he could, however, and had spared his tales accordingly. The last time he’d seen Clint, they’d only gotten halfway through the recounting of the arrest of Obadiah Stane. Even though Phil knew the true hero of the piece to be Tony Stark (for as irritating as Phil found him, Tony had proven himself that night) Phil had been hoping that when Barton returned they could finished it.

To be left alone in his office with the news of Barton’s return had hurt, but he’d shaken it off and gone to bed. Phil had slept ill and woken late, but he’d dragged himself to his desk with the promise of coffee. He hadn’t expected to have any business that day, but Maria had interrupted with news of a commotion in the centre of town. Phil had donned his hat and hurried off. He’d known as he ran that Barton was likely involved somehow, but arriving to find Barton dangling the bank manager by one hand been a shock.

Something was clearly the matter with his friend. Phil studied Barton carefully. Instead of his usual bow, he had a gun in his hand, the barrel of it pressed directly against the temple of Mr Steele. More alarmingly, his carefree grin was pulled wide in a mockery of his habitual smile, and his eyes — normally so handsome — were flat. 

No, Phil realized with a chill; not flat, but _mirrored._ He caught a glimpse beneath them of yellow flame, red embers, and a black so deep it burned. 

Phil swallowed. 

“You understand now,” Barton — or rather, the demon wearing Barton’s face — said. 

Phil didn’t understand anything, but he nodded gamely. “Yes. What do you want?”

The demon grinned. “What everyone wants!” He lifted Mr Steele higher. “A game of chance and a good time! Tell me, Phil, do you play dice?”

Phil shifted, taking his hand off the buckle of his belt and letting it hang, his fingertips just brushing the grip of his gun. “I don’t gamble.”

“Too bad,” the demon said. His grip tightened. Steele’s face began to turn the most alarming shade of purple. “I do.”

“Enough of this,” Phil snapped. He clicked the safety off his gun and slid it out of its holster. “You have my attention now, so why don’t you let Mr Steele and these people go?”

The demon wearing Barton’s face laughed. “So noble!” He glanced around at the pedestrians caught by the spectacle. “Are you concerned for their safety?” The demon’s expression darkened. “You should be.”

Phil deliberately placed both hands on his gun. He leveled it in the demon’s direction, trying to ignore Barton’s handsome face. “Put Mr Steele down.”

The thing inside Barton sneered. “No,” it said. “You cannot hurt me. Your mortal weapon will do nothing.”

Phil felt the truth of the demon’s words in his gut. Against the flames dancing behind Barton’s eyes, his pistol felt clunky and inadequate, a too-human weapon for such a superior foe. 

And yet, hadn’t his childhood been filled with such stories? Phil knew the right weapon, in the right hands, could do more good than evil — just look at Barton and his bow. 

It was true that the demon’s words had the ring of truth, but the stories always said that nothing evil ever told the _whole_ truth. Phil leveled his weapon. He had never truly believed in God and even now, staring a demon in the face, Phil knew he couldn’t do so with any conviction, but that wasn’t to say he didn’t believe in _anything._

Raising a hand, Phil touched the five-pointed star on his chest, took a deep breath, and fired.

The bullet seemed to explode from his gun a great deal slower than it usually did. Phil found himself watching its progress as it sped towards Barton, the demon’s face twisting from its previous mockery into something like fear as it neared him. The bullet seemed to be brighter than it should be, as though a trail of streaming light flowed behind it, a golden hue. 

The demon twisted, attempting to put Mr Steele in the path of the bullet, but to no avail. As slow as the bullet seemed, to Phil, to be moving, it travelled fast enough to beat the demon’s turn. The bullet slammed into Barton’s shoulder, tearing through his leather jerkin. His grip released, and Mr Steele fell to the ground with a startled cry.

Phil stopped himself from rushing over. Instead he cocked his gun and advanced slowly, weapon at the ready in case the demon should appear again. Barton was frightfully still against the wood of the planking, though. Phil caught his breath at the sight of blood.

“Ow,” Barton said, shifting. He sat up slowly, one hand going to the back of his head and coming away with blood. He must have cut his scalp when he fell. Barton looked from the blood on his hand over to his shoulder, and then back up to Phil. “Coulson?”

“Barton,” Phil said, relieved, closing the final distance. His friend sounded like himself again and his eyes had regained their usual handsome colour. Distantly, Phil was aware of others going to Mr Steele, who appeared to be shaken, but all right. “What happened?”

“I don’t—” Barton’s face twisted, and for a moment Phil feared he’d lose him again, but his eyes remained their usual colour, and Phil knew that those strange, dark flames were gone. “I took a bounty on a woman I’d known once, figured it’d be a decent thing to do, to be the one who put her down. What I found wasn’t what I’d been expecting, though. I thought—” He swallowed and looked back up at Phil. “I thought I could free her. I was wrong.” He looked around the street again, his horror rising. “What did I do?”

“ _You’ve_ done nothing,” Phil said firmly, flicking the safety on his gun and holstering it. “The situation was beyond your control. There’ll be some difficulty explaining it in the official reports, but I’m sure I’ll manage it. How’s your shoulder?”

Barton rolled it. “Fine. It’s bruised, but I’ll live.” He gave Phil a knowing look. “You hit me where you knew I’d sewn that metal plate, didn’t you?”

“I thought the impact of the bullet might be enough to drive the demon away,” Phil admitted. “I’d hoped to avoid injuring you further.” He didn’t say how petrified he’d been that he’d miss, or that he’d be proven wrong and be forced to kill Barton outright. “You’ll be sore, but it’ll heal in a few weeks if you don’t overdo it.”

“I think it was the power behind the impact, more than the impact itself,” Barton said. He held Phil’s eyes. “I never knew— I understood the law to be important to you, but I’d never thought your belief in it could be so strong as to drive a demon away.”

Phil found himself colouring. “I believe in people choosing to do what is right, more than I believe in any religious moral authority,” Phil explained. He leaned over, getting one hand under Barton, and helped him up. Barton groaned, but got his feet under him. “You should let the doctor have a look at you.”

“He should get Mr Steele first,” Barton protested. He looked over and caught the other man’s eyes. “My apologies, sir.”

Steele looked mostly confused, but he nodded. He was helped to his feet and onto a nearby bench, and it was clear that someone had already notified Banner — the doctor was hurrying up the street as they spoke.

“So, does this mean I get to stay and hear the conclusion of your story from the right side of the prison bars?” Barton asked, with the ghost of his usual smile.

“I’ll even give you the first pass of the whiskey bottle.” Phil promised. “Just sit and let the doctor see to you, please.”

 

*

 

It was some hours before Banner pronounced Barton fit to leave his clinic — he’d wanted to observe the pattern of bruises that developed swiftly after the encounter, and determine the likelihood of further damage. Barton twitched under the doctor’s hands, but Phil put a palm on his good shoulder, hoping to calm him. He knew how important Barton’s bow was to him, and for so long as his shoulder was injured, he would be unable to use it. 

Barton had been opening his mouth to say something, but at Phil’s touch, he settled. He remained in the clinic until Banner discharged him, and then, limping, followed Phil back to his office.

“This was far more exciting than I’d wished for my re-entry to town,” Barton admitted, sinking into the visitor’s seat with a groan. 

“Oh?” Phil asked. He retrieved the whiskey bottle, untouched since Barton’s last visit, and poured. As promised, he slid Barton’s glass over first. “Is that so?”

“It is,” Barton admitted. He leaned back in the chair, but tipped his head up to meet Phil’s eyes. “I was hoping maybe to stop by here, perhaps talk your ear off for an hour or two.”

Phil smiled. He knew he didn’t do so often, but Barton brought it out in him. He brought many things Phil had always kept hidden to the surface. “I admit that would have been preferable.”

“Are you saying that didn’t appreciate the excitement,” Barton asked, his tone teasing but his eyes serious, “or that you missed me?”

Phil looked away, taking a small sip of his whiskey to cover his hesitation. “Can’t it be both?” 

“It can,” Barton admitted. He bit his bottom lip. “I have to admit, though, I’d hoped…” He trailed off.

Phil watched him. “Yes?”

Barton darted a glance up. “Nothing,” he said, and shook his head. “It was foolish to— ”

“Clint,” Phil interrupted, and was rewarded by Barton sucking in a breath and looking over at him again. “What were you hoping?”

Barton licked his lips, but didn’t look away. “Well, I was hoping that… that… maybe I could hang around here for a bit. Always being on the move is getting old — leaving last time was so hard, and I realized while I was looking for that bounty that I was tired. I wanted to, well, I was maybe wondering if you wouldn’t mind seeing this old mug around town a bit more often.”

“Never,” Phil assured him. He felt something painful flare in his chest and realized, with a start, that it was hope. Swallowing, he decided to put some of what he was feeling on the table. “I suppose, if you’re staying, you might want somewhere other than Miss Sally’s to lodge? I got plenty of room, if you’re interested.”

Barton caught his breath. “Yeah?” he asked. “I wouldn’t, I mean, you wouldn’t mind? I know I can get in the way…”

“Nothing would make me happier,” Phil assured him, putting down his glass. He put his hand on the table, and then extended his fingers, so their fingertips brushed. “I assure you.”

“Oh,” Barton — _Clint_ — breathed, and then grinned. It was his usual expression, but brighter — happier — than Phil had ever seen it before. “You’re going to regret saying that, Sheriff.”

Phil smiled back, just as happy, and knew that, if a demon appeared, he could banish it at this moment with nary a wink. “I doubt that,” he said, meeting Clint’s gaze. “I doubt that very much.”

 

~ The End

**Author's Note:**

> P.S. Kids are all better now! Yay!


End file.
